


All Hell Breaks Loose

by quillquiver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Based on a Tumblr Post, Demon!Dean, Gen, Handprint, Hell, M/M, angel!cas - Freeform, mishasminions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stuck out a hand for Castiel to shake, giggling maniacally to himself when the angel glared back at him. “No? That’s cool. Either way, I’m your tour guide.” Dean pressed the knife deeply into the skin of the angel’s chest, eyes glowing with sick pleasure as Cas screamed. “Welcome to Hell.” </p><p>Before Cas manages to raise Dean from perdition, Dean puts him on the Rack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Hell Breaks Loose

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [this post](http://mishasminions.tumblr.com/post/69185619829).

“Never had an angel down here before.”

He moved with a feline grace, the whites of his eyes greying and pupils beginning to burn red as he approached the Rack, a twisted smile adorning his features. His skin was charred in some places and bleeding in others; a motley canvas of red and black. He smelled of death.

This had not been part of the plan.

Sidling up to his prisoner, Dean Winchester pulled a rusted, bloodstained angel blade from his back pocket, sighing as he leaned against the metal structure, nose moving to brush the angel’s neck. Castiel felt an unsettling feeling seize his being, coiling in the pit of his stomach as he tried to stay calm. “You smell like something holy,” Dean growled, smirking into the skin there before darting his tongue out to taste the pure flesh. “You taste like purity.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Castiel struggled against his metal bonds, body screaming in protest. His powers were greatly diminished in this place, and his wings were shredded, blackened and bloody, painful holes littering their wide expanse haphazardly. The angel forced himself to be still as Dean pulled away, this time running the blade down his cheek in an affectionate manner. “Alastair didn’t want to roll out the welcome wagon; discretion and all that, you understand… I mean, tell the wrong demon there’s an angel here and suddenly all Hell breaks loose!” Dean’s teeth were pearly white, but his grin was sinister. “So, it’s just little ole’ me here to greet ya. He trusts me, y’see. Alastair. I’m his favourite. Name’s Dean. How do you do?” He stuck out a hand for Castiel to shake, giggling maniacally to himself when the angel glared back at him. “No? That’s cool. Either way, I’m your tour guide.” Dean pressed the knife deeply into the skin of the angel’s chest, eyes glowing with sick pleasure as Cas screamed. “Welcome to Hell.”

The operation was supposed to have been covert. Difficult. Risky. But essential. Essential and _private_. Angels had not entered Hell for almost an eternity, and those stationed on Earth had not been privy to the plans of their officers. Castiel himself had been honoured to have been chosen; he was no Archangel, no Seraph, he had no title to boast other than that of Observer… But his Father had asked _specifically_ for him.

Of course, Cas had never been told by his paternal figure directly, but his commanding officer had relayed the message from Raphael. Either way, Castiel had been honoured to raise the Righteous Man from the depths of perdition.

But something went wrong.

Castiel had not been the only angel sent on this venture; Raphael had asked for a handful of soldiers to accompany the chosen angel on his quest, all of whom had perished on their journey in. It was Cas alone who had fought his way through Hell to find the soul he needed, and it was he who had been ambushed and mercilessly beaten, strung up like Jesus Christ on the Rack in the darkest, dankest corner and welcomed by the very man he had set out to rescue.

Dean carved his own name into the flesh of Castiel’s ribs, marking the bone repeatedly. The angel bit his tongue, closing his eyes and grunting in pain as his chest heaved with the effort of keeping silent, his fists clenched. Dean stopped and raised a brow. “Why so quiet, Angelface? Lemme hear your pretty little screams. They’re just like singing. Singing from Heaven. You have a beee-eautiful voice, Angelface.”

Castiel took a shaky breath. “D-Dean,” he croaked. “Dean, listen to me. I am- I am here to bring you back. You must-”

“ _Back_?” Dean asked sharply, knife easily slicing through the flesh of the angel’s cheek. Castiel flinched. “I’m not going _back_. Now: _scream_.” He ran the blade down Cas’ thigh in a straight line.

The angel sang like a canary.

“Dean…” Castiel’s breath was labored and he forced himself to look into his charge’s greying eyes, brows furrowing in foreign feelings of helplessness and fear and defeat as emotion gripped his heart. Was he too late? Had the Righteous Man truly given himself over to evil? Was it done?

_Had Castiel failed in his task?_

“Dean, remember who you are.”

Dean stopped cold, hunched over and face hidden as Cas felt a hope surge up through his chest. Dean’s shoulders were trembling, and the angel dared let himself hope that his charge was crying.

The opposite soon became apparent. The mortal was not crying, he was _laughing_. Hysterically. Insanely. And then he wasn’t. Then, Dean was pressed up against Castiel, squeezing the angel painfully onto the metal rack as he growled low and dark in Cas’ ear, every sentence punctuated by a slice of skin. “I do remember. I remember hate, and pain, and rejection. I remember sitting in my dad’s car after _everyone left me_ , and thinking that I didn’t own a damn thing of my own. I was always defined by the people around me, don’t you see? I was never _myself_. But here, here I’m free. Free to be… Me.”

“Dean-”

“ _Shut up_ ,” he hissed, hand hesitating slightly before slicing blindly around Cas’ kneecap. “Don’t pretend to know me, Angel. I was pathetic. I had every reason to hate myself because I _wasn’t worth a dime_. But here I’m _revered_. You know what that means, Bible Freak?”

Of course he did, but Dean wasn’t looking for an answer… He was looking for a scream. So Castiel gave it to him, another pained cry for help amidst all the other damned souls as his charge skinned a two-inch strip from his forearm.

“Please,” the angel pleaded weakly. “Please-”

Dean’s lips twisted into a perverted smirk, eyes shining with utter glee. “That’s right, baby… Beg me. _Say my name_ , Angel. Let’s hear it from that pretty mouth of yours.” He grabbed Castiel’s face, turning him side to side and squeezing his cheeks together before pulling back and punching him, fist landing first at his nose, and then the pretty mouth previously in question. Cas groaned, feeling light-headed and weak as he forced his eyes to stay open, body sagging against the rack and his restraints as the metal dug into his wrists and ankles. So weakened, the angel felt _everything_.

But there was still one thing he hadn’t tried.

“Remember Sam,” Castiel urged, coughing up blood. “Remember your brother. Is there anywhere you would not go for him, anything you would not do? _He needs you, Dean_. He is lost without you and in danger. Come back with me and I will bring you to him, of this you have my word.”

Dean paused again, this time his face visible. The way his brows furrowed was promising, and Castiel continued speaking. “I am an Angel of the Lord, Dean, sent here by my Father to raise you from this place. This is not where you belong. You belong with your brother. Remember, Dean. Remember Sam and how alone he is. You must go to him.”

A deeper frown. “I-”

“ _Remember love._ Dean, remember the love you have for Bobby, and Ellen and Jo. Remember how the sunlight feels against your skin and the wind whipping past your face. Do you remember fresh air, Dean? Do you remember beauty?”

Dean stayed stationary, grip on the blade tightening and loosening in five second intervals.

“Dean, _please_. Even under the cloak of Evil I can feel your soul glowing brightly. You are a beacon of hope in the darkness and despair of this place. You are not your father, or your brother, or some unoriginal meld of the two. I know you, Dean. Even here, I can see the beauty of your soul. You are defined by your loyalty and love, by your morals and values and not by the people you are so devoted to. Your head is your own, as are your thoughts and your heart. The rest is unimportant.” Castiel looked at his human charge, the grey starting to fade from his skin as he looked down at the floor, posture tense and troubled. “You are worth saving, Dean.” Castiel told him, voice soft and kind and confident. “Let me save you.”

There was nothing for a long moment, and then Dean moved very quickly, nicking the cuffs of Castiel’s ankles just so before moving to those on his wrists. The metal things fell to the rocky floor with a clang and Castiel stumbled forward, collapsing into the mortal’s arms with a groan. The angel blade dropped to the ground and Dean's body seized up in a flash of red and black, soul coiling tightly. Castiel was warm and pure, body overflowing with celestial energy. He didn’t belong down here. He was the enemy. He was _wrong_. Dean’s soul coiled tighter and tighter and tighter-

Until suddenly, Castiel was staring up at a demon whose eyes burned red and cold. Dean’s skin was black as coal, some parts burnt and flaky while others were covered in thick scales. His teeth ended in sharp white points, and on his chest burned a sigil in bright red. It was wrong. It was all wrong. Dean was never- It had always been Sam. That had been written. That was law. And yet the design was carved into Dean’s chest clear as day.

A Prince of Hell.

The Righteous Man had been lost.

Castiel’s heart sank as Dean sneered at him, adjusting the angel in his arms with another twisted smirk. He grabbed Cas’ face again, bringing them so close their lips brushed. His voice was dark and evil and crawled across Castiel’s skin like a pestilence. “Hey there, Angelface.” His soul was a flickering ember.

For the first time, Castiel’s faith wavered. He felt doubt.

He looked up into the glowing red of Dean’s eyes, baby blues wide and even scared as he stared at the demon, tongue tied. What else was there to say?

“What, Hell Hound got your tongue? C’mmmooonnn, Angel, talk to me.”

His face was all wrong, and Castiel couldn’t bear to look at him. Unfortunately, Dean had other plans. “You know,” the demon said lowly, holding Cas’ face to stay in place. “I’ve never skinned an Angel. Your wings will look _so good_ on _my_ back.”

“Take them,” Castiel said, not quite defeated, but completely earnest. He could have doubt in himself, and in his Father, but he had observed Dean Winchester from the time he’d come screaming into this world. Dean was no demon. And he certainly was not a Prince of Hell. “Righteous Man, they are yours if you wish them. I am yours to do with what you will. I have faith in you, Dean.”

“Faith?” Dean cackled, “And where’s your faith gotten you, Angel, huh? I’m gonna flay you alive. I’m gonna pluck the most sensitive feathers from your wings, one by one… And when I’m done with that, I will wear you like my Sunday best.”

Cas managed a breathy chuckle and a smile. “Do it.”

And in an instant, the angel blade was in Dean’s hand, and he had rammed it through Castiel’s left shoulder, just under his clavicle. Cas screamed, collapsing against his torturer, foreheads resting against one another’s as the angel fought for breath, right hand gripping Dean’s left deltoid tightly. “I,” Cas gasped, “will always have faith in you… I will _always_ come when you call. And I will _never stop_ trying to save you.”

This made the demon pause, and in his moment of hesitation, Castiel let his guard down. Being so weak, the angel needed only to have his forehead touching that of his charge before the connection was made: Dean was assaulted with images of his brother. Of his mother. Of memories that boasted innocence and devotion. Dean felt his anger and desperation fade away, fear replaced with an all-encompassing warmth. He remembered this emotion was called love, and it tingled at his fingertips before settling in his chest, making his skin glow golden white. He was watching the fireworks with Sam. He was fixing his first car with Bobby. He was getting cuddled by his mom.

“ _Angels are watching over you_." 

In a burst of white light, the darkness covering Dean's flesh shattered from his skin. Castiel almost sobbed with relief, instead setting for a shaky sigh as he gripped Dean's shoulder even more tightly, fingers digging half-moons into the wonderfully clear skin. Dean wrapped his arms around his savior to cradle him more steadily, holding Castiel upright as one’s being was assaulted by the heat and feel of the other. Dean was unaware how much he needed such contact until it was being presented to him, but threw himself headlong into the feeling, skin glowing a shimmering gold the more he let himself relax. This made his body seize up in alarm, and in response, the light dulled from his flesh, blackness creeping in again at his toes. "Do not be afraid," Castiel breathed, voice encouraging against Dean's lips. "No harm will come to you whilst under my protection."

Though the mortal did not know why, his saviour’s sure demeanor calmed him. Light filled up Dean’s every pore as it destroyed the darkness within him, culminating to leave a name on his lips, the word like a puff of warmth against his flesh: Castiel.

"Castiel," Dean repeated softly, affectionately as he touched the angel's face. Cas smiled tiredly, nodding as he grunted, trying to stand upright on his own. He did so with incredible difficulty, body trembling as he forced his back straight with a grimace, open wounds emitting dim, white light.

And Dean understood what he'd done. 

“Come,” Castiel said, exhausted. “It is well past time you leave this place.”

The hunter stayed rooted to the spot.

“Dean-”

A rumble and clang were heard from the left. Both parties turned to look at the direction from which the sounds had come, the angel narrowing his eyes in the blackness. They had five minutes if they were lucky. "Dean," he said urgently. "We must go." 

Castiel stretched his wings experimentally, grimacing in pain as he did. Dean stepped back, shaking his head. He had defiled an angel. He had _ruined_ a Warrior of God. "I-"

"Dean, _now_."

"I can't," he said, looking at the battered angel in complete and utter horror and despair. Because how could he be expected to leave when he’d tortured so many? When he’d taken purity in its truest form and even perverted that? Dean couldn’t leave. Five lifetimes of torture would not be enough to redeem himself.

Castiel was angry. "You would stay in Hell of your own volition? You would leave your brother to fend for himself when he is in such danger? What good are you to the world down here, Dean? What exactly would an eternity of torture do to you?”

Unspoken, the answer hung between them like a two-ton weight: Evil. Dean would change, just as he’d changed before. He would turn into the being with burned skin and red eyes.

“Penance,” the hunter replied instead, voice quiet.

Castiel’s brows shot almost to his hairline. “Penance?” he asked incredulously. “Dean Winchester, you have never been a man of Faith. You drink and copulate like every day on Earth is your last, and your regard for God has never been anything less than disrespectful. Do you truly believe that staying here would wash you of those sins?”

Dean was silent.

“My Father is many things,” Castiel said slowly. “But is not unreasonable. He does not care about your sexual habits or your penchant for alcohol. My Father cares about the treatment of people. And you, Dean, you have _nothing_ to repent.”

"Look at what I did to you!" he replied helplessly, tears springing to his eyes as a hand moved up to cover his mouth. "And I was gonna- I was- I need to stay here. I deserve-"

"You deserve to _live_ ," Castiel replied ferociously. "You deserve to be saved, Dean." 

Another crash was heard. Cas judged another minute until the cavalry arrived. He held out his hand.

“You’re not strong enough,” Dean countered, though the approaching demons had obviously made him uneasy. “You won’t be able to carry me out. Save yourself.”

“My duty is to save _you_ ,” Castiel said firmly. “And I will do that or I will die trying.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know more than enough.”

Dean slipped his sweat-slicked palm into Cas’ at the same time one thousand demons descended upon the pair. It was then that Castiel slid his hand from his charge’s, gripped his left deltoid tightly…

And raised him, perfect and whole, from perdition. 


End file.
